Mental Scrapbook
by Scorpio71
Summary: LoganRemy slash Snippets and scenes from Wolverine & Gambit's relationship. If mm slash isn't your thing, don't read.


TITLE: Mental Scrapbook

FANDOM: X-Men (Comics – 616)

PAIRING: Gambit/Wolverine - slash

RATING: Hard R (see warning)

WARNING: Scenes of graphic violence and graphic sex.

DISCLAIMER: Riiiiight.

SUMMARY: Memory is an odd thing. The day to day bullshit slowly fades away until it leaves nothing behind but a vague "emotional" tone or color. A feeling. However, every now and then certain details, usually surrounding intense emotional times, stay crystal clear, etched into our minds like snapshots. Virtual photographs forever frozen in time, locked away inside of our heads.

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**MENTAL SCRAPBOOK**

by Scorpio

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**click**

Heart pounding behind ribs, sweat soaking chilled skin and the sheets. Blood, pumping furiously through thrumming veins. Red on black eyes wild, tremors and shivers wracking a tall lanky frame. Thick fingers rubbing in gentle circles over damp clammy skin. Calming. Soothing. Low voice murmuring words into the pink shell of an ear half hidden behind a tangle of auburn hair, drowning the lingering cries dragged out by a hideous nightmare. By a memory refusing to die.

"It's okay Rem. Let it out. I gotcha and I ain't letting go. You're safe now. I gotcha."

"Je suis desole. Oh, mon Dieu, je suis desole."

Inhumanly strong arms pulling tighter, a protective and sympathetic embrace.

"I know, darlin'. I know."

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**click **

Twin motorcycles racing side by side down the twisting and turning street. Autumn leaves clinging to the trees lining the road blur into a mosaic of smeared yellow, orange and red. The rise and fall of the pitch of matched engines roaring through their gears echo through the countryside.

One rider, long and lean; brown trenchcoat and long auburn hair fluttering behind in the wind. The other rider, heavily muscled and stout; unlit cigar clenched firmly in a feral grin. Neck and neck, they race the wind and each other.

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**click**

Keening wail of exquisite pleasure filling the air. Two men, entwined as one. Heavier one on his knees, longer thinner one straddling his lap. Back to chest, arms stretched forward with fingers clasped tightly together, six adamantium claws deeply imbedded into the plaster above the headboard. Bodies locked together, seemingly still but for tiny shudders and tremors of muscles flexing and twitching in ultimate pleasure. Scent of sweat, musk and sex swirling around them. Wild animal growl of completion stealing over to drown out the wail.

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**click**

Sharp click of pool ball against pool ball, two sets of eyes track it as it rolls across bright green felt only to drop into a hole and be caught in a woven leather pouch. Two sets of eyes leave the table and seek out the other. Red on black, blue on white. One smirk, one scowl.

"Remind me again why I'm playing against a man that calls himself Gambit?"

Rich delighted laughter filling the room.

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**click**

"Hey! Look at the two faggots! We oughta kick their asses!"

One long nimble fingered hand reaches up to slide down dark sunglasses even as the other hand pulls out a few cards from a deck hidden within one of many pockets. The SCHNICK sound of adamantium claws popping out of their flesh sheaths.

"Gambit don' t'ink dat's de brightest idea you ever had, homme."

The shock-fear-disgust-hatred flash of emotion across fresh scrubbed faces.

"Fuck! They're _mutants_!"

The sound of sneaker and booted feet retreating into the distance followed by a sad and tired sigh.

"Remy hates dat. Shouldn' be dat way, mon couer."

"I know, Rem. I know."

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**click**

Silky red hair trailing over gloved hands. Hands squeezing too tightly to allow breath. Fear and adrenaline pumping through veins, squirming and gasping, praying for a miracle.

THUNK! GASP! GURGLE!

Three razor sharp claws explode out of the enemy's chest, dripping gore and blood. Strong hands quiver once, twice and then slide bonelessly away from a throat raw and sore. Gasps for breath, red on black eyes turn to look up into haunted blue ones gratefully.

"Merci. Vra..." Coughing and gasping. Voice rough and hoarse. "Vraiment."

Two strong arms grabbing the taller man, pulling him in tightly, smearing cooling blood over them both. Comfort and relief shared and exchanged. Given and taken equally.

"Anytime, darlin'. Anytime."

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**click**

Heavy strong thick fingers tangled in long silky auburn hair, holding a head still. Metal against metal, hips pump and roll in a timeless rhythm, moving faster and faster. Pressure bruised lips wet with the giving and receiving of pleasure. Wet agile tongue, flickering over sensitive places. Cheeks sucked in, highlighting an amazing bone structure. Tight, hot, wet throat swallowing around a thick heavy erection that twitches and jerks at the sensation. Fingers clenching convulsively in auburn hair.

"Rrrreeeeeeemmmmmmyyyyyy!"

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**click**

Wounded cry of animal pain echoing through the night as a heavily muscled man caught in the grips of malignant magnetic fields is left hanging on the verge of being torn asunder from the inside out. Cruel laughter curling through his mind even as pain curls through his body.

Wild reckless leap into the fray, long lean limbs tuck and roll to land in a graceful crouch behind the Master of Magnetism. Reaching out with gloveless hands that burn with fuchsia fire. Kinetically charging living flesh for the first, and hopefully last, time. Drop to the ground and frantically rolling away once again.

BOOM!

Heavy body covered with sweat and trembling with pain drops to the ground. Moans and whimpers escaping full lips. Long fingered hands that no longer glow rolling him over, pulling him close.

"Je t'aime, mon Wolverine. Je t'aime."

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**click**

Bottle of single malt scotch, bottle of aged bourbon. Half empty pack of cigarettes. Scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air. Bowl of pretzels, bowl of peanuts. Two piles of plastic chips. One deck of cards. Two men trying to win, but uncaring if they lose. Both realizing it's not the game that's important, it's the other player that matters.

Two sets of eyes meet; one red on black, the other blue on white. Neither can remember the score.

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**click**

Shorter man climbing into bed. The weight of the metal in his bones causing the mattress to dip down. Taller, leaner man grinning as he allows his body to roll with it, cuddling up to the muscled heat of his partner. His lover. His all.

Lips meet, soft and tender. Tasting, feeling, sharing. Hands reach out to caress and touch. Fingers sliding gently over warm flesh. No words are needed.

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**click**

Intruder alarms blaring, pulling them out of their unending and endlessly amusing bickering. Adrenaline pumping, massive excitement and mild fear sizzling along raw nerves. Jumping up and running, side by side, to meet pain and hatred and death together. Guarding each other's back, needing to defend, to protect. To fight. Wanting to live, but prepared to die.

Together.

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**click**

Backyard barbecue. Sunshine pouring down on laughter and friendship, love and happiness. Scent of food thick on the air, beer bottles sweating in warm hands. Lovers standing together enjoying the free show of the younger kids playing volleyball in the grass. Overhearing two friends contemplating their love.

"You know Hank. I just don't get it. Them. Don't get me wrong, I'm _glad_ Logan and Remy are happy together. I am. I just have trouble understanding it. I mean, they have nothing in common."

"I don't know about that Robert. Looks _can_ be deceiving. Take it from the blue furry guy."

"Yeah, but... You know what I mean."

"I do, Robert. I do. And I will admit, I too was shocked by their coming together. However odd as their relationship seems, it does work."

"Yes. It does."

Two sets of eyes meet. One red on black, the other blue on white. Twin smirks are shared and the taller man leans against the shorter one. A thick heavily muscled arm wrapping around a thin waist.

_END: Mental Scrapbook_


End file.
